Seems So Slow
by hightoppsmadness
Summary: Wade is finished. Finished with Stryker, finished with killing, all of it. But he has one last mission: find the speedster and bring her to the island, willingly. But can he really do it? Can he use his charm to trick her and keep his heart out of it?
1. a day in a cafe, calling it quits

**Seems So Slow**

A HightoppsMadness Fanfiction

Author's Note: All characters not owned by HightoppsMadness are owned by Marvel. All events and names are fictitious in nature, and should not be taken as fact. Thank you for choosing a HightoppsMadness fanfiction today.

November 22, 1979

Her eyes were a dull yellow. It wasn't a normal color, but it was possible that it was a trick of the eye. She twirled her slender finger in her asymmetrically bobbed chestnut hair. The look of boredom overwhelmed her in the coffeeshop. She had been waiting for two hours for her date, and he still hadn't showed. Perhaps he was in the wrong shop? No, she had been stood up. Again.

It wasn't as if she was an unattractive woman. She was shapely and had a man eater smile. Her toes curled with irritation at herself. Just what was wrong with her? She had a good personality, too. She had a talkative mannerism, perhaps that was it. When she started conversation, she just didn't stop. She was sarcastic, too. Her quick witted quips were enough to drive a man to his knees. No, it couldn't have been that. She sighed mentally, she was sarcastic even to herself.

She pushed herself up from the small formica table and went to leave. She didn't bother getting any coffee. She hated the prissy fru-fru shit they shoved through to the masses. Starbucks was not her scene. No, she just wanted to go home and watch Golden Girls. She liked that thought. Perhaps she should get some ice cream to go with that. The kind with Reese's peanut butter cups in it. The perfect way to spend a Saturday night.

She was all too aware of the slow moving people. Perhaps a change of location would be necessary. She should definitely move out of the U.S.A. Perhaps Canada. Nothing bad happens in Canada. How wrong could she be?

(-/)

Wade was sick of this. He had put up with the program. He had stuck with Stryker, thinking that nothing else would suit him. But he had handed in his resignation two days ago. He knew the last file plopped onto his lap was a way to keep him distracted, to make him enjoy the thrill of the chase again. But they always said the same things, like 'Who are you?', or, 'What are you going to do with that sword?' or his former favorite one, 'Ahh! Stay away from me! Someone please help me!' Things got boring, and he couldn't stand boring things. He rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. He couldn't see the spot, but he knew that something was wrong with it; he didn't usually have a sore this long. All he knew was there was a freckle. He pushed the thought away as he opened the manila folder to see his last mutant pickup.

She was pretty. Not in the whoreish, cheap way, but in a classic, old fashioned way. Like a beauty from the Victorian era. Full lips, the lower one was about twice the size of the upper lip. A light, nude color of chapstick. Thick eyelashes over yellow irises surrounding large pupils. Her pale skin was not without faults, like the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, or the ghost of many scars across the space between her nose and the apple of her right cheek. Fully visible scars raced along her chin, a white web of former pain. She didn't smile in the photograph. She simply sat there. But he saw her grin. It was in those yellow eyes. She was one of those people that could hide a universe in their mind, speak in poetry and not know it, see the hidden things in pictures. He was kind of like that. But he was also disinterested in following through with that mind set. He just lived in the moment.

Her file was small, fitting on half a page. Apparently Stryker found this one just as her powers were starting to manifest. She was the daughter of an American prison warden and a housewife. Classy. She was a graduate of U.S.C., a nice college. Wade's brown eyes flicked back up to her picture. She looked it. Her haircut was classy, an asymmetrical bob, typical of people who wanted to be trendy. But she looked like she was a trendsetter. Just not one for hair. Wade looked back to the information. She was five feet and six inches tall. That wasn't very tall at all. Wade remembered his mother being slightly taller, then stopped thinking altogether. He couldn't think about his mother at that moment, he had work to do. He skimmed the rest, going for the vital information.

She lived in Seattle. She was a budding speedster. Her name was Lucille Cambridge. And she was considered an important asset to the Island. Wade felt his heart beat a little faster. He wasn't going to kill her. Those weren't his orders. He had to seduce her, then drag her trusting ass all the way back to Stryker. Wade didn't know if he could do this.

(/-)


	2. a new friend

(/-)

November 24, 1979

She was back at the coffeeshop. She didn't know why she came back. She didn't even like coffee. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. It was hilarious to watch pompous people sniff at the overly extravagant frapachinos with sprinkles that they had ordered hold up the peons of big business CEOs who were sweating, knowing their job was on the line if they didn't pick up the perfect cup of steaming inspiration. Lucille shook her head. She thought she had seen the second hand of the clock stop, but it must have had been a trick of the eye.

A man walked in, and for an instant, she wondered what kind of coffee he was about to order. He didn't look like the type of man to buy a simple cup o' joe, but he wasn't a prissy coffee snob. He looked like someone who would by espresso, or maybe something with french vanilla cream. He had gotten to the counter, and threw her for a loop. He had ordered a croissant and a Chai Tea, something very few people ordered these days. She looked down at her own Chai. A deep voice cleared their throat, and she looked up to see the man. He had deep brown eyes, ones that sparkled with amusement. His smile was that of a shark's. She knew that deep down he probably was a shark, but perhaps he was just a nurse shark. Nurse sharks don't bite.

"Hello," he laid his cup down and extended a hand. "I'm Wade Wilson. Nice to meet you, person I don't know yet."

She looked from his hand to his face. He was definitely a shark, a tiger shark, but not a great white. Those were the ones that would never be good people. He had a few skeletons in the closet, and he was sure to have more stuffed in there by the end of his life, but for now, he was good people. She took his hand. "I'm Lucille. It's nice to meet you too, Wade. Please, sit down and join me for tea."

He did as she suggested, and she noticed he was much more interested in the croissant than the Chai. In fact, he had pushed the beverage to the side and munched on the confectioner's sugar coated delight with glee.

"So you're not a tea drinker, I presume. Chai is best when hot. You passed it up for the pastry." she observed.

"You caught me. You looked so happy with it that I thought it would be good. I took a sip and decided that you were very wrong to be so happy with it. It sucks." Wade smirked. "So I guess you have an extraordinary ability to read people."

"No, people just go so slow that it gives me plenty of time to figure things out." Lucille flinched at her wording as the second hand stopped for the second time. Wade was perfectly still until the hand moved again.

"Do that again." he simply said.

"What?" she was confused.

"You disappeared for a second. Do it again." Wade leaned forward. "It's really cool. It's like when I split a bullet. You can do it again, but it's not that easy. I want to see if you can do it again."

"What do you mean, 'split a bullet'? I don't know what you're talking about." Lucille was in denial. Honestly, she would sometimes stare at a clock for hours only to have the hands move over three minutes. She knew she was different, but not that different. She worried that one day she would wake up and everything would be at a standstill. That she would speed up and never be able to slow down.

"We need to talk somewhere more private than this. Can we find a place like that? One that you're comfortable with," he threw away his paper cup. "After all, I'm from Canada; I don't know the first thing about Seattle."

They walked into the rain. "First thing about Seattle: we have three sunny days. You missed all three of them last week. Instead, we have rain. Lots and lots of rain." she began, and Wade chuckled.

"Sounds like a great place to be." he rolled his eyes, and Lucille blushed. "By the way, can I call you Lucy?"

"What? That has nothing to do with what we were talking about," Lucille looked up at him. God, was he tall. "But sure. You can call me Lucy."


	3. Quickster? No, make that Velocity!

"Great!" Wade exited the safety of her umbrella. "We can have nicknames and inside jokes and slumber parties-"

"You're insane, aren't you?" Lucy quirked a brow. "That's alright, at least half of Seattle is, too. You'll fit right in."

"You sure about that? I like to be at least a little different." Wade leaned in close to her, and Lucy felt a strange fluttering where her heart was.

"Well... maybe not right in. You're a little... off." Lucy glanced at him sideways. "Anyways, come with me. I'll take you to my apartment."

"On the first date? I think we're going a bit fast, don't you think?"

"Shush, you know that's not what I mean."

"So no monopoly?" Wade played innocently, and Lucy stopped short.

"What? No, none of that either. Or Jenga, if that's what you're getting at," Lucy smiled, and Wade grinned. Maybe he would take full advantage of the year long deadline he had. He didn't have to turn her in just yet.

(-/)

"So you're telling me that there is this whole community of people like me, on this island, working for the government, and so many more just wandering around in the world, scared to share their abilities?" Lucy sat down, struck. How could she not have known about all this?

"Yep. And I work for that community. Well, not exactly. They make me work for them. I'm getting kind of sick of them, so I'm doing one last mission before I leave them and their lucrative funding forever."

"What's the mission?" Lucy's curiosity was met with a finger wag from Wade.

"Ah-ah! That's a secret! I can't ever tell you, because it's important that I don't. Anyways, how are you taking all this? I mean, the audience seems to be taking this well." Wade for some reason looked sideways at some unseen collective, but Lucy didn't understand.

"What audience?" Lucy cocked her head to the side.

"Um, nothing, never mind. I'm a little weird like that." Wade thought as he admitted his oddness. She was pretty, but her hair was wrong. He blamed the artist and author for the look. She would look much better with a lighter, tousled look. HightoppsMadness apologized via his favorite yellow thought bubbles, and he forgave her easily.

"Anyway, it's alright. I mean, I always knew I was a little...off. When school would take so long I could run to the next city to get coffee and back before the lunch bell went off, it was hard to not notice. I would win every track competition, and Dad would say how proud he was of me. Mom didn't care. Mom had other things to worry about, like my sister."

"Your sister?" Wade was curious, but knew that something was off. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

"She died two years ago. She was high and decided to go driving." Lucy looked at her worn out shoes. "It wasn't the first time. Only, she hit a kid. Killed him, not by hitting him, but dragging him half a mile under her bumper. She didn't even realize it."

"Let's not think about that." Wade was desperate to avoid exchanging sob stories. "What will we call you?"

"What do you mean?" she was thoroughly distracted.

"Well, everyone's got a nickname. I'm thinking something like...quickster." Wade joked, and Lucy giggled.

"How about Velocity? You know, speed and direction." Lucy suggested.

"I like it. Let's go with that."


	4. An unfair trade, for a fear

(-/)

"Hold it longer!" Wade ordered, his body taut from stress.

"I can't!" Lucy argued.

"You better! You can't get this under control until you learn how to vibrate your molecules at a rate that stops time!" Wade sat her down. 'Bet the audience thought we were doing something else,' he thought to himself. They probably did. Tee hee.

"Fine! I'll give it one more try, but then, I'm done!" Lucy insisted. Wade watched as she started to shake. It became faster, until the edges of her became blurred. She started to blend into the chair she was sitting in, then disappeared altogether.

"Hold it, hold it," Wade chanted. He knew she couldn't hear him, but it made him feel better.

After a good ten minutes, she reappeared, her hair mussed and her chest heaving.

"You did it!" Wade cheered. "Ten whole minutes!"

"Whoopie freaking do," Lucy's sarcasm radiated off her. They'd been at this for three months now. Training in the morning, work, then lunch together, then more training until Lucy fell asleep. It had been more than a few occasions in which Wade had to tuck her into bed. He knew time was running out, but he didn't want to rush this. He didn't want to give her to them.

She had grown precious to him, and he became a good friend to her. He wanted to be something more, but she refused to go on any dates with him.

"We've got a good thing going here," she'd say. "Let's not screw that up."

He wanted to screw that up so badly.

She had taken their first encounter to heart, and she brought home Monopoly and Jenga. They played it every weekend, having a sleep over. Actually, Wade had taken to sleeping on her couch. He would much rather have the bed, but chivalry still counted for something, right?

As she went to take a shower, the phone rang. He answered it on the first ring, and immediately regretted it.

"Wilson," Stryker's voice carried over the receiver. "You're taking too long."

"You said I had a year." Wade reminded him.

"Doesn't matter. I just got information that accelerates the date."

"Bullshit."

"You ever heard of Malignant Melanoma?" Stryker's tone sent chills up Wade's spine.

"Yeah, so?" he tried to hide his fear. He knew what was coming next.

"You have it. You've got two weeks before we can't do anything about it." Stryker was met with silence. "Speed it up. I don't care if she's trained. We'll take care of that."

The phone went dead.

(/-)

Lucy's shower was warm and soothing over her jumping muscles. She had really strained them. The curtain blew open, and Lucy stifled a scream. It wasn't the first time Wade had taken a shower with her. She was beginning to suspect that he was gay. (Wade was very offended when HightoppsMadness agreed to put this into the story at the request of her shipping friends).

"Lucy," he sighed in a way that was unusual to her. It was breathy and seductive, the way a lover would call to their partner.

"Wade?" she was met with a hungry kiss, and she melted.

He was everywhere at once. At her waist, his left hand trailed down to her posterior. At her breast, his right hand played with her beading nipples. His mouth devoured her own, and she slid her leg against him. She could feel his hardness against her.

"Can I?" he whispered into her mouth, and she nodded. She knew there was a good reason for this, but she can wait until later to hear it.

He entered her swiftly, filling her, and she cried out. Wade groaned in return, and he started moving in and out of her, first slowly, then with random bursts of speed.

It didn't take long to make her climax, and as she started to move away, he grabbed her closer.

"I'm not done with you yet."

He took her, roughly and quickly, until he too, became too tired to keep going.

"Any reason for this?" Lucy asked between gasps.

"I get to show you where I work." Wade panted back, guilt starting to build within him.

He was going to trade this woman for a chance for himself. He felt so dirty. And he knew he couldn't fix it, either. Even if he hid her from them until the day he died, they would come after her. They won't rest until she is in a cage she can't faze out of.

(-/)


	5. loss and guilt, or lack thereof

(-/)

The next day, Wade brought his briefcase out of her closet. Inside was his suit, his swords, and most importantly, his guns. His outfit consisted of red and black spandex, though he hated the material (absolutely too revealing!), his matching mask, his belt of pouches, filled with bullets, gadgets of various uses, and his holsters for his guns and swords. She gazed at him with the suit on with an expression that mixed lust, fear, and awe in a heady combination. Wade didn't really want to know which feeling was the most prevalent. After all, this was the suit of the man that had successfully captured her, body and soul. Even if she was able to escape her fate, he was confident that she wouldn't, for his sake. And this is what disturbed him most. He had made her a suit as well, but she declined the outfit.

"I'm not a superhero, why would I need a suit like that?" she smirked at him. Oh, how wrong she was. He was far from a hero. He was a mother fucking mercenary, and she was his quarry.

"Whatever, your loss. Are you ready to go?" he asked, his mask shifting slightly over his moving jaw. She tugged lightly on the small bit of fabric at the back of his head where it hung off.

"Sure. Are we going by car?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No, my job is much less fun than that. We're going by helicopter." He smirked under the mask at her starstruck face. That joyful expression wouldn't last much longer, and he was going to enjoy every moment he could of it.

(/-)

She had been excited the entire trip, looking out of the window as they flew over the American/Canadian border. Her hair was bouncing in the curls they had eventually grown into. The blonde was starting to show in the roots of her hair, and Wade thanked HightoppsMadness mentally for remembering his suggestion about her god-awful hair. Once the brown dyed hair was cut away, she would look like an angel. He liked that. She was too innocent for anything different.

"There's the island." He leaned over her and pointed at the landmass they were approaching.

"Oh, that's a nuclear power plant, though!" she yelped, her hand darting into Wade's gloved one. "Wade, are we going to be okay there?"

"Yeah, they just don't want people sneaking around there." He turned her to face him. "And while we're there, call me Deadpool. That's what people here call me. That's my name here."

Lucy nodded and frowned when he pulled his spandex mask over his face. The black ovals over the general area of his eyes were punctuated with the white lenses that actually covered his eyes. She didn't like that she couldn't look at them. They were so pretty, even though it sounded very unmanly.

The helicopter landed, and men in white coats and even more men in black suits and ties rushed up to meet them. The men with the white coats started muttering into tape recorders while the men in suits grabbed Lucy's arms after she and Wade—now Deadpool—had left the helicopter. They were rough with her, and she was appalled to see that Deadpool didn't mind that at all. He calmly walked beside them as she struggled with their manhandling. A man in a suit with salt and peppered hair approached Deadpool.

"You caught the speedster." He gestured at Lucy, and her heart stopped as Deadpool nodded firmly.

"It was easy, Stryker. All I had to do was gain her trust." His eyes almost watered from the look she was giving him. Panic, indignation, fear, heartbreak—they all appeared on her face. It made a surprising amount of self hatred twist inside of him.

The men in suits slapped handcuffs on her, and she looked to him beseechingly. "Wa—Deadpool? Deadpool, what are they doing? Deadpool!?" she struggled with the men while she was being dragged away. She wasn't strong enough to vibrate through objects yet, so there was no escape for her.

"Seems you have made quite the impression on this young lady," Stryker raised a straggly brow at Deadpool, who shrugged in response.

"She was a good distraction, a great fuck, and now, a great test subject, right?" Deadpool fought to keep his voice neutral. He had become close friends with her, a confidante, and a lover to her, and now he was throwing her to the wolves. He felt sick to his stomach. "So, what do you have in mind for her?"

"First, we'll take a DNA sample, then see how it compares to the other speedsters you've brought us." Stryker started walking into the building, Deadpool beside him. They could still hear Lucy's shrieks as she was shoved into the steel cuffed chair he knew every freak like him had to sit in while their DNA, their life code was processed as rewritable data. That way, if she died during testing or in some horrible accident of some sort, they could just make a new one of her. But it wouldn't be her. It would be some blank copy of her, and the thought sickened Deadpool to no end. Stryker wasn't even done with her. "Then, we'll try and splice the wings onto her-"

"Wait just a minute. Wings? She's a speedster, she doesn't need wings. Aren't you just going to test basic information about muscle regeneration or something like that?"

"Yes, of course. But we've taken a notice to the sequences in DNA, and speedsters and winged beings are the closest in sequences, with only a few strands difference, mostly with physical traits that have nothing to do with the mutation itself. We want to see if we can take the wings off of one of our winged beings, since they grow back, and splice it onto her, to see if they will work, if they will be compatible with her slight frame, and to see what effect the change in DNA has on her."

"But if she dies-!" Deadpool flung his hands to his head in disbelief. They had always been cruel to their subjects, but they've taken it to a new level!

"If she dies, we will try again with another. After all, we're doing the same process with you, using Victor's healing factor. The regenerative properties should be able to help with the healing process. After you have that ability, we will take you under the knife and remove all of the malignant melanoma we can. In theory, healthy new cells will take their place, and you will be cured."

Deadpool stood there as Stryker calmly stalked back to his nicely furnished office, and knew for a fact that he and Lucy were going to die a very painful, slow death. And it was his entire fault.

(-/)

Lucy struggled all she could, even trying to vibrate herself to trick them into releasing her, but nothing would work, and soon she was cuffed into a steel chair. The walls were glass, and she could see all of the experiments occurring around her. A boy with metal skin was being magnetized to a steel plate, and he was screaming in pain from the action. A young girl, no older than six was being shown pictures of horrific murders, and she was identifying the bodies by name. Her voice and eyes were hollow and slow, traumatized by what she was being shown.

But the most horrific sight was just in front of her. A young woman, probably in her early thirties, was having her wings cut off with a bone saw. Her body jerked with every motion, and even though she was under anesthesia, she knew that after she woke up, she would be in living hell. Red smeared the cream colored feathers, matting them together.

"Yeah, those are for you," the man in the suit grinned at her as he jammed the syringe into her spine. Lucy could only gasp at the pain, but it was soon over. Her eyes watered at the man's chuckle, and at the man who walked past her windowed wall without even looking at her. Deadpool had betrayed her in every sense of the word, and he was being paid for it. His job was to betray people like he had done to her. This wasn't even new for him, and he surely felt no guilt at all.


End file.
